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Chapters (46)
  1. The Man Who Loved Mata Hari
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. PART I: The Early Years
  5. Prologue
  6. Chapter One
  7. Chapter Two
  8. Chapter Three
  9. Chapter Four
  10. Chapter Five
  11. Chapter Six
  12. Chapter Seven
  13. PART II: The Middle Years
  14. Chapter Eight
  15. Chapter Nine
  16. Chapter Ten
  17. Chapter Eleven
  18. Chapter Twelve
  19. Chapter Thirteen
  20. Chapter Fourteen
  21. Chapter Fifteen
  22. Chapter Sixteen
  23. Chapter Seventeen
  24. Chapter Eighteen
  25. PART III: The War Years
  26. Chapter Nineteen
  27. Chapter Twenty
  28. Chapter Twenty-One
  29. Chapter Twenty-Two
  30. PART IV: The Last Year
  31. Chapter Twenty-Three
  32. Chapter Twenty-Four
  33. Chapter Twenty-Five
  34. Chapter Twenty-Six
  35. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  36. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  37. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  38. Chapter Thirty
  39. Chapter Thirty-One
  40. Chapter Thirty-Two
  41. Chapter Thirty-Three
  42. Chapter Thirty-Four
  43. Chapter Thirty-Five
  44. Montserrat
  45. Author’s Afterword
  46. Table of Contents

De Massloff shrugged. "Gas. And I didn't even see a bloody German. Didn't even get a photograph." Then, suddenly turning: "Nicky, listen to me. You can't go on like this. They've already begun searching the quarter for you, and if nothing else you should be in a hospital."

Gray simply continued watching from the bed, his eyes following every movement, restless fingers toying with a bottle cap. "You were never particularly fond of her, were you?"

"Nicky, for Godsakes."

"Not that I blame you . . . she's not the sort of woman one can appreciate merely as a friend. Maybe if you had slept with her ... or spent a few days—"

"Nicky, stop it."

Marie Leclerc appeared briefly in the doorway, exchanged glances with de Massloff, then left. Soon there were sounds of boiling water, presumably to sterilize another dressing.

"The trial is to be held next week," de Massloff finally said. "They say that she's got a very good attorney. Name is Clunet."

Gray lightly touched his fingers to his shoulder. At least the blood was dry. "The trial will be a joke, Vadime."

"But you can't know that. You can't possibly know that." Then, glancing at Gray's shoulder: "Besides, there certainly doesn't seem to be much you can do at the moment anyway."

As soon as Gray was able, he moved to more secure lodgings that de Massloff had found through friends. It lay on the edge of the city—another narrow room above a tiny garden court. Most of his time was spent compiling a detailed account of his findings about those telegrams. When he was finished there were more than fifty pages—handwritten on sheets of white foolscap, secured with tape torn from a bandage. In better moments he imagined delivering these pages to one of Zelle's more influential friends, possibly Jules Cambon or even the duke of Cumberland. Then again, he also could see them lying beneath the floorboards until discovered by some future tenant years after her death. He tried to put that last thought out of his mind.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

HE trial of Mata Hari began on the afternoon of July 24, 1917. The evening before she had been transferred from Saint-Lazare to the depot at the Conciergerie adjacent to the Palace of Justice. Here, after bathing and washing her hair, she was permitted to select a dress for the following day. She chose blue.

It was a warm day, sticky and warm in those sealed chambers. Edouard Clunet, Zelle's seventy-four-year-old attorney, was particularly affected, and actually suffered from heart palpitations. There were also complaints from the jury. Eventually an hour or two of rain would bring a little relief, but in the beginning it was very hot.